


did you call me from a séance

by hologlow



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Archivist Sasha James, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27985470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hologlow/pseuds/hologlow
Summary: Martin dreams of cold and fog. After an encounter with Jane Prentiss leaves him living in the archives, he dreams of cold and fog and something else entirely.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 16
Kudos: 51





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is my first work ever so I'm a bit nervous tbh! i'm posting the first chapter at the same time as the prologue so y'all can read them together :)  
> titles from nights by frank ocean <3

There is someone in the lobby of the institute. From where Jonah stands, he can see the child is quite scrawny, barely even a teenager, and yet they seem to be trying to convince Rosie to give them access to the library. He turns to continue on his way to his office, but doesn’t make it two steps before his body goes rigid as the Eye urges him to stay.

It’s insistent. Jonah hasn’t felt it’s presence this strong since his failed attempt at the Watcher’s crown. His mind races, this has to be important. Maybe, maybe whatever is about to happen will finally tell him what was missing, how to fix the ritual. He takes a moment to calm his excitement, and Jonah approaches the receptionist desk.

The child looks up, big brown eyes almost hidden by eye bags and oversized wire frame glasses, but piercing and inquisitive nonetheless. Rosie turns at the same time and opens her mouth, likely in greeting.

“Good morning, Rosie. Care to tell me what is going on with our young friend here?”

She pauses, almost uncertain before, “Well, Mr. Bouchard, Jonathan here and I were just discussing our library use policy. Mainly that he is not old enough to be here without documented reason from school or otherwise.”

Jonathan scoffs, indignant. “I am not a child! I am fully capable of using a library by myself. I won’t even take long, I’m just looking for one thing!”.

Rosie, exasperated, questions, “And what exactly are you looking for then?”

Jonah looks at them again, really Looks. The Eye informs him, with something akin to warmth that this is Jonathan Sims. 13 years old, orphaned long ago and left without a guardian recently. Passed around the system, but that didn’t bother him as the lack of attention let them do his research. He’s researching-- Oh, how exciting! A Leitner! and a Spider one at that! He’d had quite the encounter and barely escaped with their life. And now, he finds himself plagued by the very same desperate want, need, to know what had happened to him that Jonah had felt his whole life. Jon bore a mark so deep Jonah can’t believe he didn’t sense it the moment they decided to enter his institute. But more important than all of that, this child, young and malleable, sent as a gift from the Mother herself, is already favored by the Eye.

They look down and stammer. “It’s a-- a book.”

Jonah has seen a lot of things. He’s lived several lifetimes over and Seen even more than that, but he’s never witnessed fate line up quite like this. He grins, “I’d be happy to help you with that Jonathan.”


	2. signal coming in and out

The cot sucks. Martin doesn’t know what he thought it would be like, but it feels like his back is already sore and he’s only been laying down for five minutes. He shifts, trying to settle down and sleep, really sleep for the first time in two weeks. Two weeks he’d spent hypervigilant and afraid and lonely. His waking moments plagued by Jane’s incessant knocking and worms and  _ my god _ the smell while his brief moments of rest brought him no more comfort. Instead, just the nightmares of cold and fog that had occasionally popped up since his mother moved out. 

He sighs as he realizes the adrenaline that had been fueling him recently has most likely not yet left him. He thought giving Sasha his statement would maybe bring him some relief, but it wasn’t quite the cathartic experience he’d hoped for. That’s not to say that it was any fault of Sasha’s- no, she was lovely! She was more apologetic than Martin had thought was necessary, but it seemed she blamed herself for not realizing Jane had been impersonating him over text. Regardless, she had even offered to let him stay at her apartment!

Martin just couldn’t shake the fear. He didn’t want to lead Prentiss to anyone else, much less Sasha. So, he’d given up the comfort of being with another person for the comfort of keeping one of the few people he cared about out of danger. 

Which leads him to now, curled up on this pathetic cot, listening for any sign of those awful worms. Him and Sasha had spent some time preparing the room earlier, she had humored him by searching the room thoroughly. They had found no traces of worms or otherwise, but it is hard to remember that now that he is once again alone. He sighs again, boring himself with the same spiral of thoughts he’d been obsessing over when he was trapped. 

His phone vibrates. He looks down to see Sasha had just finished catching Tim up with his whole situation.

**Tim** : alright well ig we can cross worm lady off our bucketlists

**Tim** : fuck this day tbh

**Tim** : or rather martins last two weeks lmao

**Tim** : fuck worms

**Martin** : ^^^

**Sasha** : fuck worms indeed! 

**Sasha** : im going to try and sleep this away now 

**Sasha** : my ringer is on if u need anything martin :) goodnight y’all !!

**Martin** : ty sasha! gn x

He smiles a small smile, those two always manage to put him in a better mood, no matter how big or small the interaction is. Rereading the messages, he comes to a decision. This overthinking is ridiculous and altogether unnecessary! He’s safe and he is going to sleep. He grabs the corkscrew he had set by the cot earlier, and with it tightly in his grasp, he closes his eyes. 

* * *

When he opens his eyes again, he’s met with an unwelcome sight. He’s on a beach, maybe. For as long as he’d been having these dreams he’d never actually seen the ocean, but the salty smell and dampness in the air leads him to believe as much. Even for the many, many long nights he has spent here, all he’s ever been able to see is fog, grey billows stretching menacingly in every direction. Just the fog and his own thoughts to keep him company.

Really, he’s always thought there was something wrong about these dreams. Of course he’s had dreams before, nightmares even! But never has he felt quite so conscious as he does when he’s in dreams like this. He feels like his mind is fully awake even as his body still struggles with dream logic. The loss of autonomy combined with the uncomfortably clear mind is such an unsettling juxtaposition that he always wakes feeling rattled and distinctly off- like the fog has followed him somehow. He wishes his subconscious would just chill out. Christ, he probably could do with a bit of therapy. 

Dismissing that unhelpful train of thought, Martin turns in place, looking for water, trees, the sun, literally anything. He doesn’t have much hope for a divergence from his usual nightmare- but wait! There is something! In the distance! Martin can’t quite make out what it is, but he’s already overwhelmingly relieved that he doesn’t have to spend another night trapped with nothing to distract him from his thoughts.

He wills his body to move toward the unknown object. His walk makes about as much sense as the rest of the situation does, simultaneously taking an eternity and only a couple minutes. As he gets closer, he realizes he probably should be afraid that whatever waits for him could be as ghastly as the rest of this nightmare. He quickly shakes off the thought- at least this way he won’t be so goddamn alone. Maybe it will be a nice dog.

Blinking, he finds himself close enough to see what seems to be the only other thing that exists here in the oppressive fog. He draws in a sharp breath- it is definitely not a dog. It is a human? It, or rather they, are undeniably human looking at least. They are sitting on the ground, small and swimming in a large sweater and long skirt. As Martin’s gaze travels upwards, he finds their face completely shrouded by the fog. It wraps around their head in a way that could be nothing but purposeful. The most concerning of their features is what's floating gently above their head. It looks to be a crown of sort- if a crown were made of several large and unsettling eye caricatures, glowing faintly green. 

Martin, still a ways away, moves closer out of curiosity. As he approaches, he catches sight of something on the ground. Several large metal chains snake through the fog, leading forward. The chains are obviously attached to the person, clasping firmly around their wrists and ankles, leaving them some room to move before disappearing into more of the fog. At this closer distance, Martin can see the slow, steady stream of tears falling from a few eyes on the crown.

He’s sort of at a loss for where to go from here. He feels his heart tug at the sight of someone so obviously hurting, but Martin cannot make any sense out of the situation. Operating on the idea that this isn’t a normal dream, is it safe for Martin to be curious? The person has been contained in such a way that leads him to believe they might hold some danger. But on the other hand, they just look so helpless it’s a challenge to take that possible danger seriously. The chains are menacing, but the fog around their face seems actually sinister- leaving them no way to communicate and blocking their senses. It seems to be much more likely to Martin that this person is as much a victim to whatever evil these dreams come from as he himself is. More so, clearly. 

The person raises their hand in what could be a wave and Martin is so lost in his indecision that he startles at the movement. They slowly, gently lower their hand, as if to appease him with more predictable movements. It’s such a sweet thought, someone trying to comfort Martin from such a position, that Martin raises his own hand before he even realizes. He opens his mouth, not even sure of what is going to come out- and just like that he opens his eyes back in the archives.

* * *

Martin spends the rest of the week trying to put the dream out of his mind. It’s always easier to rationalize away the distinct wrongness of his nightmares once he’s awake again. Easier to forget just how completely hopeless they feel in the moment. Much easier to blame them on the immense stress he’s been facing. It was probably just symbolic of how trapped he had been feeling or some other garbage along those lines.

Besides, they obviously have much bigger things to worry about. Sasha had taken the threat of Prentiss very seriously, and had both him and Tim trying to focus on cases that had any mention of worms. 

It felt nice honestly. He knew he wasn’t great at his job and his story was less than believable, but the archives team had never expressed any doubt. More than that, they cared enough to be worried for him in the aftermath. Sasha continually offered up her place to stay. Tim made a habit of bringing him a tea and something warm to eat in the mornings. They both tried to be subtle, but they continually checked up on him in their own ways. It made his insides thrum with a warmth he didn’t quite know what to do with.

So, he threw himself into work. Martin had never loved working at the institute, but for the first time he felt like what he was doing actually mattered. He could figure out what was going on, with Prentiss and whatever other dreadful statements that could turn out to be true. He could help people. He could do that.

* * *

When Martin next finds himself in a dream, he comes aware in the same area that he was in last time. The person before him has certainly changed sitting positions, but other than that they look exactly the same. They don’t make it apparent that they have noticed Martin, but based on the last time, they are likely waiting for Martin to make the first move. So he does. 

The word is sticky in his mouth as he manages to get out a small “Hi,” to accompany a wave. They wave back.

“Can you hear me? Or- or see me? Sorry- I don’t mean to be rude or anything, I just- I really just don’t know what is going on and-and I don’t know how your whole fog thing works,” using his hands to gesture to his face. Martin cringes at his words, it is starting to feel harder to speak with each sentence. “Sorry,” he finishes lamely.

The person raises their arms in a placating motion, as if to say ‘slow down, it’s okay’. They’re still for a moment, likely trying to figure out how best to answer him. Eventually, they give two firm nods. Moving to push their unruly hair back and out of the way, they reveal that their ears are clear from any fog. Then, they point to the crown hovering above them.

Ah. Okay. Okay. So they can hear and see, but they for sure cannot talk. And, they are definitely not human, if their connection to the creepy floating eyes are any indication. Can they see out of the crown or does the crown just signify a supernatural power to see through the fog? Martin scrambles to parse it all out. He has a million more questions, but can’t think of any that would be answerable with a simple yes or no.

He decides on, “Are you dangerous?” This could be a foolish question, he has no real assurance that they will tell the truth. But, something in his gut tells him that this person won’t do him any harm. He’s usually not one to make decisions based on his own intuition, but this feeling is stronger than he really understands. There’s not much to hold onto in the oppressive fog, so he will hold onto this feeling as tightly as he can. 

The person shakes their head no quickly, seemingly eager to clear their self. Martin gives a little sigh in relief and then bends down to inspect and feel the chains on the ground. His throat is tight, he seems to be running out of time to speak for reasons unknown. Maybe the thickness of the fog has something to do with it. 

He manages to get out, “Is there anything I can do? To- to, I don’t know, help?”. They give another no. After a moment though, they pat the ground next to them unsurely, in an obvious invitation. 

Martin doesn’t hesitate before he walks over and takes a seat. He tries not to stare as he gets closer, but there is just so much to look at. He can see everything he had missed before, from the dozens of scars littering what little of their dark skin that’s visible to the streaks of gray curling through their hair. They don’t move their head to follow Martin’s movements, even when he settles on the ground, so they must be able to see through the crown all the way around. Or maybe they’re too scared to move much. It hits Martin that this person is putting just as much trust in him as he is in them. That thought is equally thrilling and terrifying.

Movement above them catches Martin’s attention. The eyes are much clearer than they were last time, but he watches as a tear makes its way down the crown and drips into the unforgiving fog. His heart breaks a little.

“Are you in pain?”

A shrug is all they offer in answer which really tells him all he needs to know. He doesn’t think too much of it as he places his hand, palm up, between them, in a silent offering. He has no expectation that this will be acted upon, lord knows this person has every right to not be comfortable accepting any kind of touch from a stranger. It’s just that he spent countless nights wandering these nightmares and knows how soul sucking being alone in the fog is. He would have done just about anything for someone to offer him a hand to hold, and he can’t even imagine how exacerbated that would be if he was stuck here. And they seem pretty well stuck. Martin apparently cannot help them, so he offers what he can.

Surprisingly, it only takes about a minute for slender fingers to come to rest on top of his. They make no move to intertwine their fingers or anything more so Martin doesn’t move either. He does give a smile, though, and while it’s obviously not visible, Martin thinks they might be smiling too. 

After a while, it becomes clear to him that he won’t be able to talk anymore, but his companion doesn’t seem to mind. So, they sit together. Hand in hand as the night runs out.

* * *

  
  


The next morning Martin wakes earlier than normal. With a couple hours still before he is supposed to be clocked in, he decides he is going to walk the café around the corner. He is a jumble of anxious thoughts and the leftover uneasiness that always accompanies his nightmares and maybe the crisp morning will help clear his head so he can sort it all out. And a hot chocolate certainly never hurt anything either. 

He ignores the silver worm he spots on the steps of the institute, hoping he’s imagining it. The rest of the trip there is uneventful and the café is empty beyond the tired looking baristas which Martin is beyond grateful for. He is definitely not in the right headspace for interacting with the public. As he walks, he sends a text to the group chat, just in case he comes back late, and also to let Tim know he won’t be needing breakfast. Cradling his still too warm drink near his chest, he finds a nice bench to sit, and maybe have a crisis on, in the park nearby. 

Right, okay. His last dream was severely fucked up. Martin knows his mind is capable of many, many things. He even likes to think that he has a bit of the creative gene that allows for his mediocre poetry. But none of that makes it any easier to believe that the dream was something his subconscious made up. It was too detailed, too strange. Too fucked up.

So, he’s either having some severe mental issues, or the dream is real (and/or being influenced in some capacity). And seeing his recent experience with one worm queen, Martin is keen to believe the latter. Ergo, the dream as well as the person in it must be real, and they are really trapped there. Now what?

At first pass, there doesn’t seem to be anything Martin can do. He can’t break or unlock their chains and he certainly can’t dispel creepy fog. He could try to see if he can find something similar happening in a statement, but he hasn’t come across any thus far. And he’s seen the fates of the people who gave statements that felt real in the way his nightmares do. They don’t lend him much hope for what the results of a similar statement would be if he were to find one.

And it still feels like the other shoe is waiting to drop with the whole Prentiss situation, so he doesn’t feel comfortable taking work time to research something that is unrelated. He decides against asking Sasha and Tim about it as well. They have taken everything well so far, but saving someone from a dream entrapment sounds far fetched even for a supernatural research institute. He knows they will probably believe him and he’s almost completely sure he believes himself, but he wants to maybe have some proof before involving the both of them.

The only option Martin sees now is to try and communicate with this person better, figuring out who they are and what they know about the whole situation. He starts with writing out a list of questions he has in the small notebook he carries for when writing inspiration hits. From there, he does his best to whittle them into yes or no questions. Then, remembering how hard it was for him to even speak, he tries to determine which of the questions are useful and which would only serve to satisfy his morbid curiosity about this mystery.

Satisfied with his work, he moves on to his next plan for nonverbal communication. He doesn’t know any sign language and doesn’t know if the person does either, but he decides he should at least try learning to fingerspell. It would be immeasurably helpful if they were both able to do that. Martin also considers a way to list options and have the person choose the number of the correct statement or guess. There is no sand to write on in the dream, but if worse comes to worst he can have the person write letters in the air or on his palm.

He sighs as it nears the time he should head back to the institute wondering where the time went. This was a solid start at least. Gathering his notebook and empty cup, he closes out of the sign language basics video playing on his new phone and makes his way back. He pointedly does not look at the few worms on the front sidewalk. 

* * *

The following couple weeks lend to little success in any regard. Martin has had a few of the dreams since then, but found his body uncooperative in them all. In all his preparations, he forgot that nightmares don’t follow his wants or logic no matter how desperately he wills them to. It’s all he can manage to just sit next to the person again, feeling for all the world like an unwelcome passenger with a front row seat to view their misery. He hopes with everything he has that his presence is more comforting than unsettling. 

Equally as alarming is that they don’t seem to be making any progress in the archives. They have gone through statements of all things bugs and dirt and mold and slime, but can’t seem to find any statements that actually connect to Prentiss beyond the one Mr. Hodge provided. And that did little but tell them they absolutely should not have sex with Jane. Helpful, really.

After a particularly frustrating and useless day of work Tim throws down a stack of papers harshly on his desk and does a very dramatic whine. 

“Why do I feel like I’m putting in more hours researching now than when my job title was researcher? Unbelievable.”

Martin smiles. He’s been thinking the same thing, but he hadn’t brought it up because he doesn’t actually know what they are supposed to be doing as archival assistants. Fake credentials and all that.

Sasha steps out of her office where the door had been open with a look of amusement on her face at Tim’s antics. “Oh quit your complaining Tim. We already asked research to look into it haven’t we? And they’ve yet to provide us with any useful information.”

“It’s because I was their best researcher,” Tim says, grinning. Sasha makes a show of rolling her eyes.

Martin jumps in with, “Besides, it’s not like we can just ignore this whole situation and move on. Or do you need a reminder of the worrying amount of worms around the institute? 

“Or that Martin almost got wormed to death already?” Sasha adds.

Martin squawks in protest. He’d survived didn’t he? Prentiss hadn’t even got him with a single worm and he was about to say so when Tim butts in with, “Nah, Martin is far too handsome to die by worms,” and an accompanying wink. Martin does his best not to blush. Tim continues, “But alright I get it. I’m just going crazy fixating on this stupid worm lady that we have absolutely no leads on.”

Both Martin and Sasha nod in sympathy and they sit in the feeling for a moment before Tim gets the bright idea that they need to do something fun to get out of their funk. It is Friday night after all!

Later, Martin finds himself squished in a pub booth between a drunk Tim and a tipsy Sasha with a pleasant buzz himself. He smiles as Tim sings along to the music, horribly off key and with half the lyrics wrong. Sasha laughs a minute before joining him, sounding only slightly more listenable. Martin feels warm all over and thinks this must be what it is like to have friends. How had he gone so long without this?

When they finally walk him back to the institute, all three of them are linked by the arms and giggling. Sasha insists he stay with them, at least for the night but he waves the offer away. She’s too out of it to properly bully him into coming. Instead she wraps him firmly in her arms in a goodbye hug. Tim joins with a kiss smacked to his cheek.

“Goodnight Marto. We’ll see you tomorrow. Or I guess Monday. Unless you want to see us tomorrow! I always want to see you!”

Martin laughs equally at Tim’s drunkenness as the absurdity of what he just said. Surely, he would want some space from him, they were together all week at work already! But just in case Tim meant it, Martin squeezes their group hug tighter.

Pulling back he asks, “Will you guys be able to make it home okay?”. He can’t help but worry. They give him several assurances and then head in the direction of where he knows Tim lives. He watches them go before he heads into the institute. 

With the cloud of alcohol still present he all but falls onto his cot. He shifts and settles down with a smile and then he  _ dreams _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what y'all think!


	3. can't keep up a conversation

For reasons Martin cannot seem to parse, something has shifted. The fog seems less dense tonight, less all encompassing. It seems like if he were to wander, he would not be able to fully lose himself in it the way he used to. Maybe whatever is the cause of them is weaker tonight somehow. Or maybe he has gotten better at seeing through the thick mist. 

Either way, his body feels lighter and more under his own control than usual. Unburdened in a way that is so refreshing it might as well be his actual body. It feels like a milestone of some sort, a trial that he overcame. This fills him with such excitement that his ‘Hello’ comes out as more of a shout than a greeting. It rings out loud against the complete silence in a way that makes him cringe.

In a lower tone, “Sorry for that. I guess I’m just excited that I can talk tonight! Do you know why that is by the way?” His companion nods yes. “Oh really? Why?” He pauses. “Wait, don’t try to answer that- we have literally so many more important things to talk about. Do you know any sign language?”

They give the sign for yes and then follow it with a sign that Martin doesn’t recognize with both hands moving in a circular motion near their chest. 

Martin frowns, “Hold on, I’m sorry, I’m just a beginner. I am working on learning but I haven’t really gotten much past fingerspelling yet.” He knows how much of an inconvenient and time consuming task spelling everything is going to be, so he hopes they will see past this bout of incompetence to his good intentions behind learning. “Oh um, my name is Martin,” he says while signing his name, “Can I have your name?”

With deft fingers they slowly and clearly sign, ‘Jon’. He notes how smooth and natural their movements are, the language seeming to fit their hands much better than Martin’s own big and clumsy ones. 

It takes a second, but when he realizes just how plain their name is for how bizarre the situation is, he has to hold in a laugh. He glances at their crown and attempts to rectify the weirdness with the normal human name. Wait, “Are you human?”

They shrug and give a so-so motion. Well that was about what Martin had expected honestly. Oh no, he got distracted, that was not supposed to be his second question. He had hoped to maybe ease into the supernatural questions a bit, thought it might be a bit of a break from the heaviness of it all. He quickly tries to recall his list of questions that had started with their name. What was next? “Right anyway, can I ask what your pronouns are? Mine are he/him. You can maybe hold up one finger for he/him, two for she/her, three for they/them and then four for something different.”

They hold up three fingers on their left hand and one on their right. Martin tries to ignore the sprawling burn scar wrapped around his right hand.

“Both?”

He nods spelling, ‘mix’ before a sign Martin recognizes as thank you. He smiles, “Of course! No problem.” He takes a moment to recall his list of questions again. The pressing weight he felt on his throat in previous dreams is thankfully missing, so he is optimistic that they will be able to make it through the list before he wakes up. 

“So you know at least some of what’s going on right?”. He waits for their agreement before continuing, “This a dream right? Are you dreaming too?”.

Jon begins to sign, forgetting to spell but quickly corrects himself and starts over. ‘You dream. I am here.’

Although he thought that might be the case, that is not what Martin wanted to hear. He had really hoped they were granted some reprieve from their concerning circumstances in the waking hours. Wait, what does he mean by he is here? “Does that mean this is like a real place, not some sort of dreamscape? Where is it?”

‘Yes real.’ They stop to think. ‘You can not find.’

Well what does that mean? Martin’s been getting better at research, he thinks he could be capable of locating something on a map. He waits a moment for Jon to continue or elaborate, but he seems rather content to stop there. Martin guesses he’ll just have to trust that they know better than him. He supposes it’s probably a supernatural thing. 

He decides to try anyway. “Okay. I’d really like to look though. And if it’s just a me thing then I could ask my fr- ah, my coworkers to help. They’re both really smart, I’m sure they’d be able to help.”

Jon shakes his head no. ‘Not like that. Humans will get trapped. Even Tim and Sasha’

Martin feels a quiet relief that his own abilities aren’t the problem before his brain registers the implications of the rest. He knows Sasha and Tim? Panic flairs in him at the thought that he made the wrong decision in not telling them about Jon. Were they missing him this whole time, were they looking for them on their own? Had he been responsible for keeping them apart? He feels nauseous.

“You know them?” he ventures.

Jon is quick to answer. ‘No. I watch archives.” He points up at the crown in explanation like he did the first time they spoke.

Some of the guilt subsides, but Martin doesn’t feel much better. Even if they don’t know each other personally, it is becoming glaringly obvious that the rest of the archives team are also involved in whatever is going on. Of course their supernatural institute is involved in his supernatural dreams, how could it not be? He should have told them. He will tell them. 

“Can you see everywhere or just the institute?”

‘Archives. Fog blocks rest’. Martin nods, considering. He supposes he should be a bit concerned that he has potentially been monitored in his own work and now living space, but thinking back on it, he has always kind of felt watched in the institute. From the very start of his employment. Martin hopes Jon hasn’t been here that long. And even if they were always the source, he supposes the bit of discomfort he’s felt is worth it if it provides them some sort of distraction from the never ending nothingness of this place.

“So the archives are involved in this?” Jon nods. “Okay. Is there-”

He’s cut off as Jon waves his hands rapidly to stop him from continuing. Once they’re sure Martin is paying attention he signs, ‘You wake soon. All be careful. Do not trust -’ Martin watches raptly as he surely, pointedly spells ‘E-l-i-a-s’. 

Elias? Like head of the institute Elias? Out of all the people in the institute Martin thought might be involved, he was not one of them. Top of his list was Gertrude. While he never met her personally, from what he heard the woman certainly fit the bill for strange and possibly cruel. And her disappearance was certainly suspicious enough. Unlike her, Elias didn’t seem to be too involved in the archives beyond checking their progress every so often. Sure he was a bit of a condescending man, but other than that he had seemed pretty innocuous. It was also possible that Jon’s situation had nothing to do with Elias, that Elias is untrustworthy for completely unrelated reasons. Seems unlikely though. 

Martin curses softly, he really can feel himself beginning to fade out of the dream. Once again he is reminded that these nightmares really do not work in his favor, some nights seeming to drag on for ages, but tonight when he’s actually feeling in control their time together seemed to end as fast as it began. He has so many things he wants to tell them, reassure them that he is trying his best to help, but Jon seems insistent to say one more thing before he goes. Martin forces his eyes open to see them hurriedly spelling, ‘hold tape’ but he loses the battle to wakefulness before that sentence could make any sort of sense.

* * *

He gives it the weekend. It doesn’t seem right to call Tim and Sasha in after how stressed and frustrated they all had been in the past weeks. He does feel a bit guilty for taking the time, but he figures if Jon was in immediate danger they would have let him know. It will give the other archives staff some time off and himself some time to figure out how to convince them that their boss is most likely involved in holding someone prisoner. Plus he needs a day outside of the archives or he might actually drive himself crazy with anxiety.

He fills his Saturday with walking around shops, the park, anywhere that wasn’t the institute really. He tries to enjoy himself, tells himself that he deserves a break too. Martin feels like he’s been so wrapped up in potentially life threatening situations for long enough that it’s a relief just to spend some time doing normal, mundane things. He putters around for a bit and ends up buying a new poetry book along with an oversized sweater with little cows on it from a charity shop. Once he has spent most of the day, he decides to make one final stop at the Tesco. He buys mostly just the essentials but also grabs a slightly more expensive tea than usual to treat himself.

Sunday he has dedicated to poking around the archives, looking for nothing in particular. He keeps an eye out for any mention of Elias or fog, but much as he suspected, it isn’t going to be that easy. The archives themselves are rather daunting when faced with trying to find a specific subject matter. There are just so many different statements dealing with so many different horrors. On top of that it seems that there are twice as many obviously fake statements as statements that could possibly be true. And for as hard as he feels like they have been working, they haven’t made much progress cleaning or organizing the messy state Gertrude left them in either. Martin tries not to get too discouraged and hopes some new perspectives will maybe shed some light on something he missed. 

Monday morning rolls around and the anxiety Martin had worked so hard to lessen over the weekend returns in full force. He knows even if Tim and Sasha don’t end up believing him they won’t be patronizing about it. At least to his face. But sharing something that feels so personal to him, something that he has struggled with for quite some time and now really cares about, for them to judge is a hard thing. He would usually channel his restless energy into making tea or some similar menial task, but Tim had already texted that he was on his way with some coffees for all of them. So he ends up just pacing through the assistants office space rehearsing his story until Sasha and Tim arrive. 

They end up coming in at the same time, both already sipping their coffees and Martin has to wonder if they had spent the whole weekend together or if they had just met up sometime this morning, He shoves down the slightly hurt feeling at possibly being left out. He really shouldn’t feel that way, they didn’t owe him anything and already go above and beyond how his former coworkers had treated him. Not that he was mistreated, more that he feels comfortable around them in an entirely new and foreign way.

Usual morning pleasantries are exchanged and Martin tries to chat for a few minutes. He tells them about his weekend outing while sipping whatever drink Tim had thought he might like, trying not to let his anxiety shine through.

They don’t get very far into the conversation before Tim says, “Okay Martin, obviously something is bothering you right now. What’s up?”

He sucks in a breath. Guess he can’t avoid it forever. “Um, actually I need to talk to you both about something.”

Sasha eyes him worriedly, “Are you okay?”.

“I am- yes I am okay. It’s kind of not about me, really.”

Tim laughs. “That’s not very reassuring. Is it about us then?”

“No. Well a little bit, but not like something you did.” A beat of silence. “This is sounding weird, why don’t we all sit down for a moment and I can just tell you.”

They both look more than a little wary, but grab some chairs anyway. 

“So I’ve been having these dreams,” he begins. He then proceeds to tell them about the first dreams he had. About how awful they felt, like Martin was going to be alone and afraid forever. How utterly oppressive the fog had been.

At this point, Sasha cuts in, “Sorry, I feel like I have to say something real quick.” Martin looks up from his hands where he had been avoiding making eye contact. She continues, “This is sounding very similar to one of the statements someone gave recently. The Naomi Herne one, did you listen to that tape?”

Martin shakes his head no at the same time that Tim goes, “Yes that’s it! I knew this sounded familiar, I just couldn’t put my finger on it!”

They both work in tandem to quickly give him the gist of the Herne statement and Martin confirms that that does actually seem to be very close to what he experienced. Sasha seems very pleased that she put together the connection. She says, “I can give you her contact information and maybe you can see what she has been doing to cope with that whole ordeal. You’ve both been through very stressful situations recently and it might help to talk with someone that has been feeling the same way that you do. I think a friend like that might help with your nightmares.”

Martin frowns at the last part. He feels a bit indignant that she obviously thinks this is a mental thing, but schools it knowing that she means well. “I probably will talk to her Sasha, but this isn’t some kind of trauma response. I think it’s a supernatural thing which is why I even brought it up to the two of you instead of someone like a therapist.”

Tim’s face scrunches up a bit. “What do you mean by that?”

Martin takes a breath. “I mean the dreams aren’t normal and they are actually just the background I needed to give you before I go into what I actually wanted to tell you about.” 

That has them both quiet so Martin picks up where he left off. He tells them about the strange person he found after months of nothingness. He tells them about Jon’s confinement and trying to figure out a way to talk to them. He glances up once or twice while talking to get an idea of how they might be taking it and Sasha is wearing the face she does when reading statements while Tim’s usually cheery demeanor is now carefully blank. After he finishes with telling them almost word for word everything Jon had said to him, the silence seems to hang heavy in the air. 

“Martin, that is…” Sasha, usually so well spoken, seems to be casting for words.

Tim, still looking completely unreadable, takes her stumbling as an invitation to jump in with, “You’re sure this is real? Not just a really bad recurring nightmare?”

Martin, again, tries not to take offense. “Yes Tim. I know what I felt.”

Tim nods. Then with a jarring change of tone says, “Then why do you think it’s a good idea to put yourself in danger like that? That thing is obviously a monster of some kind. Probably worse than Prentiss if the way it’s locked up is any indication. You should be turning and running in the opposite direction, not making friends.”

“Tim!” Sasha scolds, probably aimed more at his absolute lack of tact than what he actually said.

“What? I’m serious! If it really is watching us it probably knows just what to say or do to get to us. It’s obviously trying to manipulate you Martin. It knows you're a nice bloke and is going to use that to get you to free it.”

Martin who has been gritting his teeth can’t hold back his anger any more. “He is not an it! He is a person Tim! You didn’t see him, I don’t think there is anything anyone could ever do to deserve that as a punishment. It makes me sick thinking about it. And I know he wouldn’t hurt me, I can feel it.”

“And what, you expect us to help you find a way to free a clearly dangerous being based on your feelings? Bloody hell, you can be so naïve.”

His blood boils. “I don’t _expect_ you to do anything, Tim. I only brought it up because Jon mentioned you and Sasha by name as well as Elias. I think something really bad is going on at the institute and I thought you wouldn’t want to be kept in the dark. I did think you might have a bit of compassion but obviously I was wrong.” 

“And I thought you weren’t a reckless idiot intent on offering himself up to whatever lurks in the night but here we are.”

Sasha is looking back and forth between the two of them like she can’t believe the argument is really happening. Martin gets it honestly, he’s not usually one for confrontation and he’s never seen Tim like this either. He is being downright mean.

“I guess we don’t really know each other all that well then.” With that, Martin stands and walks up the stairs out of the archives. The move feels a bit dramatic, but he feels that that disaster of a conversation warrants it. And he had to remove himself from the situation or he would have started crying. Christ, that was not how that was supposed to go.

* * *

Sasha eventually texts him to let him know that she had sent Tim home for the day and that she was sorry they fought. When he made his way back down however, her office door, usually wide open, was shut firmly. While he was gone, the Herne statement had been placed on his desk, but other than that, Sasha gave him no indication of what she wanted him to be working on. He decides to go back to the room he deemed his ‘bedroom’ and take the day off as well.

Tim’s return the next morning was underwhelming. He had made no effort to speak to Martin about what happened, so Martin did not either. Sasha also didn’t bring it up, instead tasking them both with follow up on some random statements, likely trying to bring back any semblance of normalcy to their workplace. They all work in tense silence. 

In his free time, Martin tries contacting Naomi. She had picked up one of his calls, but hung up the second he said he was from the Magnus Institute. Listening to the tape, Sasha had been perfectly polite, but had been dismissive of Naomi the same way she had been with Martin at first. It made him wonder if that was why she wouldn’t talk to him or if something else had happened. In a last ditch effort, he emailed her with just enough of his story to make it clear they had been experiencing the same thing and crossed his fingers that she would at least give it a read. 

As the days pass, the atmosphere in the archives goes from tense to almost unbearable. They are all dancing around each other in a way Martin doesn’t know how to approach. He had thought that Tim and Sasha would very much be on the same side, but from what he saw they were also avoiding each other. He briefly feels guilty for coming between their friendship but is still too mad about what Tim had said for the guilt to stick. Whatever happened between them was almost certainly their own fault, he can’t possibly be to blame for every disagreement they have.

Worse than that though, was that Martin had done something to mess up the dreams. Each time he found himself back in the fog, Jon seemed to be a ways in the distance. No matter how far or long he walked he didn’t seem to be getting any closer. The fog was always pressed so closely around him it felt as bad as it had the first time he ever had this nightmare. He didn’t know what it was, but felt that the regression was caused by him just as the earlier progress had been. Trying to rectify whatever his mistake was, he worked and researched and turned Jon’s words over and over in his head trying to move forward. It was just so hard; he felt like he was taking on something too big for one person but it was clear all he had was himself. He was alone.

* * *

Martin is shuffling a few statements around and startles as he hears something coming down the stairs. It’s late and he is not expecting anyone to be here at this hour. He breathes out a sigh of relief at the sight of Sasha but sucks it right back in as she walks closer.

“Sasha you’re bleeding!,” he exclaims as he all but jumps out of his chair. “Are you okay? What happened?” She looks down at the blood on her arm and back at him, something in her movements slow like she is completely out of it. “Okay um, come sit down and let me look at you.”

She takes a seat in the chair Martin had just been occupying. Martin moves her long braids to the side and looks at the shoulder the blood trail seemed to be originating from. Resting there is a clean cut that thankfully does not look too deep. He lets Sasha know that he is going to grab the first aid kit before quickly moving in the direction of their break room. On the way he scrambles for his phone and dials Tim. He’s worried that he might not pick up, but the call is answered almost immediately.

Before Tim can get a word out Martin says, “Tim you need to come to the institute right now, something happened to Sasha.”

“What? Is she okay, what happened?”

He talks as he gathers the first aid kit and a glass of water for Sasha. “I don’t know what happened, I think she might be in shock. She has this weird cut on her shoulder though and I’m going to try and clean it but I don’t know how she got it or what to do after or how to help her and I- we just need you to be here right now and-”

“Hey- hey Martin. Take a breath. I’m on my way. You’re probably doing great already. We’ll figure this out, just hang in there for a few minutes.”

Martin sighs in relief. “Thank you Tim. Really.”

Tim is silent for a moment. He says, “I’ll be there soon,” and then he hangs up. 

Sasha is still sitting quietly, motionless when he returns. He quickly works on cleaning the wound, all the while narrating what he does in attempt to make her more comfortable. It doesn’t take long and soon he finishes by covering it with a bandaid.

Sasha, finally seeming to come back to herself, says, “Thank you for that Martin. You didn’t have to, it was just a scratch.”

He frowns, maybe the wound was small, but whatever had caused it had obviously shaken her up. “It was no trouble. I’m just glad that you weren’t injured more.”

“I need to make a statement I think.”

“Sasha, I think that could probably wait. You’re hurt, you should go home. Maybe even take some time off to recover.”

“I’d rather get this down while it’s still fresh in my mind. Besides, you didn’t take any time off when you had a bad experience.”

“Well that’s because I started living here. If you really want to do a statement now though we should at least wait until Tim gets here. He’s going to want to know what happened.”

Sasha reluctantly agrees and for the next few minutes Martin tries to coax her into drinking some water without nagging too obnoxiously. Tim arrives shortly and the first thing he does is wrap Sasha up in a hug. They all settle down with a tape recorder whirring between them and after the usual beginning of statement remarks Sasha says, “I’ll start with the first thing I noticed…” and she spins her story about the strange man with blonde hair and wrong hands she had been running into. After she described her second encounter Tim speaks up.

“Why didn’t you tell us about this?”

Sasha gives him a look. “Seriously? None of us were speaking. Our fight was quite literally about interacting with possible monsters. And nothing had really happened yet so I figured it wasn’t worth mentioning.”

Tim doesn’t really have anything to say to that so she continues to recount what had happened at the café, that this ‘Michael’ had also called them by name and offered a way to keep them safe. Tim makes a face at that. She ends her statement after speaking of her attack near the cemetery and reaches to click the tape recorder off.

Martin, still unsure of what to make of the whole thing says, “I’m glad you’re okay Sasha. I know how awful those worms are and I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Thank you Martin. Look, I wanted to say I’m sorry to you. I always knew your time with Prentiss wasn’t pleasant, but I hadn’t realized just how life threatening and scary it must have been. And about your thing with,” A pause. “...Jon. I’m still not sure I get it completely, but I believe you now that something is really, deeply wrong with this place. I should really quit, you know. We, we all should. I don’t think this is a normal job, I, I don’t think this is a safe job.”

The sentiment hangs in the air for a moment. Martin certainly won’t quit. Not until he knows Jon is safe. And he’s sure the others have their own reasons to stay as well, seeing as neither of them give any indication that they are actually considering quitting either.

Martin isn’t quite sure he’s ready for forgiveness, still a little upset Sasha had needed her own dangerous supernatural encounter to believe him. He is glad she made an effort to make amends though, so he says, “I appreciate you saying that Sasha.”

“We need some kind of protection,” comes from Tim.

Sasha nods in assent. “I’m going to ask Elias to get some extra CO2 fire extinguishers for the Archive.” Seeing Martin’s grimace at the mention of that name she adds, “I keep the warning in mind Martin, I’ll be careful. He’s still our boss though and he has the power to get us what we need.”

Martin agrees reluctantly. At this point, Sasha is beginning to look concerningly worn out, so they call it a night. After some light harassment, Sasha decides she will take a few days off to recuperate. Before they leave, they all also agree to be more active in their group chat so they won’t be constantly worried about each other's safety. 

When he finally gets to sleep, Martin spends his dream sitting next to Jon in forced silence.

* * *

Tim is already in the archives when Martin emerges the next morning. He is sitting by Martins desk with two cups of tea and a pastry bag placed in front of him. 

Martin must be making a face because when Tim looks up he laughs. “No need to look so suspicious Martin, it’s just breakfast. I promise I didn’t poison it.”

He tries to look the least bit apologetic. “Sorry I guess. I just wasn't sure we really… did this kind of thing anymore.”

“I know,” Tim says, nonchalant. “And that’s my fault, this is me trying to apologize.”

Martin makes his way over and plops down next to him. “As nice of a gesture that is, you’re going to have to give me a little bit more than just some pastries, Tim. Some of the things you said were really out of line.”

“I know. I know that. I really regret the way I went about that conversation and I am really, truly sorry I said the things I did. It’s just-” Tim pauses, eyes on the ceiling as if to gather his thoughts. Surely he has more to say, so Martin takes mercy and stays quiet, giving him the time he needs to continue.

“I don’t think I’m in the right place to go over the whole story, but the short version is that my brother died. To something supernatural. Like what you and Sasha experienced.”

Martin’s heart drops, he hadn’t known Tim even had a brother. “Oh, Tim…”

“I’m not saying this to get your sympathy or, or make excuses for my actions. I just, I feel like I watched him get sucked into this darker world, like the whole thing could have been avoided if he had just chosen something less dangerous to do.” His voice is thick with emotion as he continues, “And I feel like I’m watching the same thing happen to you Martin. I don’t want to lose you, I- I really care about you.”

As nice as that is to hear, “You can care about me without being a dick about it Tim.”

Tim chokes on a laugh. “I know. I really am sorry and I will work on being better. I just- I get so angry sometimes. Oh! And think about this. Do you trust Michael? Would you trust him to be alone with Sasha?”

Martin, lost as to how the sudden jump in topic relates, answers, “No?”

“Exactly! Like this random supernatural guy with knife hands just shows up with some spooky knowledge about us and unclear intentions. Of course we can’t trust him. That is how I was thinking about Jon too.”

Martin frowns. “I guess that makes sense. But Michael hurt Sasha? And he -”

Tim cuts him off, “Yes Martin, they aren’t the same. I was just trying to put you in my place for a minute.” He does a deep sigh. “But I have been thinking about it, and you’re not a stupid person.”

Martin scoffs, “Wow thanks.”

Tim swats in his direction. “Hold on, I’m not finished! I was trying to say, you generally make pretty good decisions. I trust you and your judgement, so if you really think this Jon isn’t harmful, if you really think he is telling the truth and wants to help you like you want to help him. Then I’ll trust you on it. I’m sure Sasha feels the same way too.”

And just like that, the anger that had settled, simmering, deep in his stomach, melts away. The weight of holding that resentment falls off his shoulders and he feels like he can breathe again. “Thank you Tim. That really means a lot to me. And I forgive you.”

Tim smiles, looking relieved. “Ah, and before I forget, I’ve been thinking about that last thing Jon said to you. ‘hold tape’ right?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, okay. I think he wants you to bring a tape recorder with you when you sleep.”

Martin considers this. “That might make sense, actually. Like record me sleeping? Or just have it with me?”

Tim shrugs. “Maybe you can try both. That’s just the only thing I thought made sense from what he was able to get out.”

Hope starts to flutter in Martin’s chest. He had assumed Jon’s sentence was just cut off, but maybe it really was instructions like Tim thought. That would be a much needed breakthrough. “Yeah, I’ll try both. Thanks Tim, I don’t know how I didn’t put that together.”

He shrugs again, “No problem mate. And I’m sure you would have gotten there eventually, sometimes things are just hard to see when you’re too close to them. Now!” He claps his hands together. “I don’t know about you, but I am still worn out from last night and all this emotional junk. Certainly too tired to do any work. I think we should go surprise Sasha and have a movie marathon at her place. What do you say?”

Martin would say that sounds perfect. He would say that he missed them and there is nothing else he would rather do. But he doesn’t want to be a bother, especially since the two of them could probably benefit from a day alone together. “Are you sure she would want that? She’s supposed to be resting.”

“Nonsense! Knowing Sasha she’ll probably be bored before lunch and try to come in to work herself. We’d be doing her a favor.”

Martin gives him one last out. “I really should try to get some work done.”

Tim shakes his head. “Oh come on! How about this, skipping work would definitely stick it to,” he wiggles his fingers, “evil Elias.” 

Well, when he puts it like that, “Oh, alright let’s go.”

Tim pumps his fist in the air and cheers far louder than necessary. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for your comments on the last chapter, you all are so sweet <3  
> hope everyone is having a safe and happy holidays  
> i should be able to get one more chapter out before the end of the year, so i will see you then!


	4. head first

Things thankfully calm down in the archives a bit in the days following Sasha’s encounter with Michael. Despite how awful it had been, all of their spirits seem to have risen following the incident. Even the air in their workplace seems lighter now, like the building itself was glad they had worked it out and were no longer fighting. Or maybe Martin’s own optimism was obscuring his point of view. 

Either way, their precautions seemed to be working. Sasha had managed to convince Elias to change their fire suppression system to CO2 and provide them with a few more fire extinguishers. Apparently he had acted skeptical about the whole thing which Martin thought only made him more suspicious. He had worked for the institute long enough that he surely must have realized some of the statements were true in his many, many years here. But, he had complied with what Sasha asked for and they were still without proof that he had done anything wrong yet, so Martin didn’t voice the suspicion. 

He did, however, try to convince Sasha that they should unleash an extinguisher on the few worms that lingered outside the institute, to no avail. Apparently it would be too messy, cause too much of a disruption. Martin didn’t see how it would be any messier than the worms themselves or the worm people that would surely follow, but in the end Sasha was still his boss and had the final say about things technically work related. 

Martin had also been dutifully bringing a tape recorder with him every time he went to sleep. He felt a bit silly doing it at first, a grown man in a cot not meant for daily use, clutching tightly to a piece of outdated recording equipment like a stuffed animal. Soon, however, he began to take some comfort in it. It was a reminder of someone he cared about and even if it never made a difference, it was a clear showcase of this care that maybe Jon would also find comforting if they were watching. 

As days passed without a single dream, Martin had the thought that it may help to have a recorder on him at all times. He still didn’t know the purpose of the recorder itself, and Jon had never specified that he should only hold it at night, so he had taken to carrying one whenever he could. It was far from convenient and Tim and Sasha had watched him fumble it as he went about his day more times than he cared to admit. He had trouble with the bulky item; he had dropped it, sat on it, even spilled tea on it at one point, but none of that was enough to discourage the use. 

Luckily, Tim and Sasha didn’t seem to mind this new eccentricity he had developed either, instead they had found it rather amusing. At least, he thought, at least they were getting some easy entertainment out of his graceless displays and clear annoyance. They didn’t let his clumsiness last long though, as Martin was presented with a random gift one day. 

He had eyed the box suspiciously, unsure of what they got him and why they had even gotten him anything. After a bit of pushing and several ‘go on! open it’ s, he moved to open the gift. Under Sasha’s neat wrapping complete with a shiny bow, Martin found a recorder, significantly smaller than any they had in the archives, that had a clip, so that he could secure it on an article of clothing. It was so thoughtful, something he hadn’t even considered getting for himself, but clearly needed. As much as he appreciated the item itself, the act of Tim and Sasha planning and going out and buying him something like this was equally as meaningful to him, if not more so. It said to him that not only were they sincere in their apologies, they also were sincere in their want to help him. 

Martin had always been a giver. He gave his time, his effort, his help, his love. It was what he was good at. He had very few useful skills, but he could always be counted on for simple acts of service. Always there with a cup of tea and a shoulder to cry on. Rarely was he ever on the receiving end of care like this, and he yet again found himself unsure of how he had survived without it. It felt like these new people, Tim and Sasha and even Jon, that he had been lucky enough to find were slowly filling a hole in his very soul that he had been unknowingly carrying his whole life. 

He had to hide a few tears in their group hug.

* * *

Martin is sat at his desk, trying and failing to read a statement about some cave explorers. His eyes skim over the words without picking anything up, he is tired after days spent up late in research. Tim and Sasha had gone out earlier in the morning for follow up on a case he had opted out of, so there is no one to even distract him from the tiredness pulling at him. 

One moment he is in the archives, resting his head on his palm for just a second, and the next he is back in the familiar fog. He’s momentarily disoriented until he’s snapped back into focus by the sound of a tape recorder clicking on. Sure enough, when he looks down, the recorder secured on his belt loop has made it into the dream and is now spinning steadily. 

Luckily, Jon is close by today and he isn’t having any problems with the fog yet, so Martin makes his way over excitedly. He still doesn’t know what the tape is for, but it must be important. Nothing else has ever come with him into this place, he knows because rarely a night had gone by in his first few weeks at the archives that he hadn’t had his trusty corkscrew in hand.

He holds up the recorder as he gets closer, coming to kneel in front of where Jon is sitting. “Hi Jon! Look it worked, I have your recorder!”

A crunching static comes from the aforementioned tape followed by an amused sounding voice saying, “Yes Martin, I can see that.” 

Martin startles so badly that he almost drops the tape, juggling it for a second before securing it back in his hand. The same voice now chuckles at the display. It’s a soothing voice; rich in a way that would make for good audiobook narration. Martin looks down at the tape, then up at Jon and finally back down to the tape again.

“Oh my god, is that you? Is that what you sound like?”

“It is. Thank you for bringing the tape, Martin.”

Their voice is deeper than Martin had thought it might be, more posh than he imagined when he rarely allowed himself daydreams about what Jon would be like outside of the nightmares. He could never quite bring himself to try and puzzle out what his face might look like behind the damned fog, but he had spent countless hours contemplating what he might sound like. What they might have to say, what joy would sound like coming from them. It’s better than anything he could have imagined, Martin thinks. And he likes the way they say his name, almost completely skipping the r in a way so endearing that Martin can feel a blush climbing up his cheeks.

He must have been silent a second too long or staring slightly too hard because Jon says, “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. So-sorry. I just, um, I like your voice.” Martin could smack himself. It’s true of course, but he hadn’t wished to voice that particular thought out loud. Now is not the time, in fact that was completely inappropriate! 

Before he can take it back or apologize, Jon speaks again, in a tone that he would have called bashful if he didn’t know any better. “Ah. Thank you. I quite like yours as well.”

Oh. Well that certainly doesn’t help calm the flutter in his chest. He laughs awkwardly, not sure what else to do. Rubbing the back of his neck, he says, “Heh, I’m nothing special. You’re probably just glad to have someone to talk to.” Was that an insensitive thing to say? Throwing his situation back in his face? Christ, he really is flustered.

“I don’t think that’s true at all. I’m rather glad it’s you here.” Martin feels like Jon could probably hear his pulse with how crazy that sentiment makes his heart pound.

Jon continues, “Though I wish you didn’t have to be. The Lonely is the most insidious of the powers and it has it’s hooks pretty deep in you still, despite how close you have been to the others recently.”

“The Lonely? Is that what the fog is called?”

“No. Well yes, but not just the fog. We are in The Lonely’s dimension right now, but it’s bigger than this place. It is a force powered by the fear of being alone, isolation from those around you, silent suffering, things like that.”

Martin makes a noise of affirmation as he takes it in. He thinks of the timeline, when his dreams started. It was before his promotion, before Tim and Sasha. The first fell on the night he had moved his mother out, promising to call and visit and write and she had told him a simple ‘don’t bother’ in that disappointed tone of hers. It was sad how much sense it made. 

He wants to make a joke, lighten the mood. Turn the attention away from the fact that apparently his loneliness was so heavy, so tangible, he could feed a supernatural entity with it. He comes up with nothing. Instead, he goes for his questions, “Um, so what do you mean by force? Like-like a god of some kind? Are there more?”

“I wouldn’t call them gods, no. They don’t really have a higher consciousness that one would expect from a deity. But yes, there are more. You deal with them all the time, really, any statement that won’t record digitally is true and is tied to them. Your job would make a lot more sense with that knowledge, but Elias has done a pretty good job of keeping you all in the dark.”

“So Elias knows about them then?”

Jon laughs full of static. The tips of Martin’s ears burn, maybe that was a dumb question. “Sorry. I am not trying to laugh at you. It’s just, just the irony of it all, I suppose. Yes Elias knows. He is the Eye’s oldest Watcher, one of the oldest that serve the Fears.”

Hmm. The Eye must be a fear like the Lonely. He thinks about Jon’s crown and their own self admitted watching of the archives. He must also be connected to it in some way. “Are you a Watcher too?”

Jon scoffs, sounding absolutely offended. “No, I am not a Watcher. Elias sits back and sustains himself off the terror of others experiencing the Fears. I have lived them myself. I only watch now because he is not powerful enough to cut off my connection to the archives and I need to feed somehow.”

Martin doesn’t feel any closer to understanding the big picture, but supposes that isn’t all that important. What is important is: “So how do we stop him? How can I help you?”

Jon sighs. “Look, you have so many other things going on that you should be focusing on. You really shouldn’t worry about me so much, not much can even be done. And I have something more pressing to tell you about now anyhow.”

Martin swallows his arguments. He wants to push more, make it clear that he is always going to worry about Jon, especially after how sure he sounded that he was a lost cause. How could he not? But they do have limited time, so, “Okay. We are coming back to this conversation though. What do you need to tell me, is it more about the fears?”

“No, we can do that later too. Or you can try to research Smirke’s fourteen on your own.”

“Smirke? Like that architect Tim is obsessed with?”

“The very one.” Then, without any preamble at all, “Anyway, Prentiss is in the archives.”

Martin blanches. He has to fight the urge to look down and check his body for worms, that fantasy squirming flaring up just as it had those long two weeks trapped in his apartment. Alarmed, he asks, “What? Is she going to get me before I wake up?”

“Ah, no. Sorry, I should have clarified. Her worms have just gotten into the walls. I would have warned you before but she must be coming from the tunnels and I can’t See there. It needs to be taken care of soon, before she has time to finish preparing whatever she is planning. And do not let Sasha anywhere near the worms.”

Okay Martin is panicking now. His head is spinning. “Tunnels? Sasha?”

“Right yes, I suppose you wouldn’t know about the tunnels either. Um, under the institute. There is a trapdoor in the archives. Follow the worms once you’re down there and don’t wander, they’re kind of a maze. And yes, Sasha. Elias is trying to make her… encounter all of the different Fears. Like he did with me. Probably mostly as a threat to get me to comply with him, but she shouldn’t have to suffer regardless.”

Looking at Jon again, at all his many scars, things are beginning to click into place. Elias caused their hurt, orchestrated it in some way. And he did it to further his own agenda, whatever that may be. One thing at a time though. “How do I stop Prentiss?”

“She is probably expecting more time to get ready for an attack, so the sooner you do it the better. Last time I saw her, she had promised me that she would take her hive and go where no one could get hurt, but Elias has probably convinced her that she is supposed to be spreading. He has a way of manipulating people like that and I wouldn’t be surprised if she is too far gone, fallen too far into the Corruption, to be able to talk her out of it. You should expect to need to kill her with the CO2.”

Martin supposes he should feel more afraid of the possibility of needing to take a life, but she had already stalked and tried to kill him. He always was one to hold grudges. “You knew her?”

Jon tugs the collar of his soft sweater down, exposing first slender collar bones, and then when Martin looks closer, a plethora of small pock marked scars where worms had presumably buried themselves. In all his time spent in close proximity with Prentiss, he had never actually had a worm get under his skin. Even Sasha had escaped her encounter without even noticing the worm in her body. But these marks look nothing but painful.

“Unfortunately, yes, we had a run in. I was eventually able to make her See the damage she was causing, but not without facing the worms myself.” They shrug the material back into place. “She was doing good for a while, I hadn’t heard of any activity from her for the past couple years. Until now of course.”

He hums in consideration. It is a bit sad that Jane had not always been a mindless carrier of a deadly parasite, but what’s done is done. Martin feels no remorse for someone who threatens him and his friends. “Okay. So the plan is… trapdoor, follow the worms, kill Prentiss?”

Jon nods. “And keep Sasha away from the whole thing. Michael removed the worm from her shoulder too quickly for that mark to stick. And I’d quite like to keep it that way.”

“Right. On that note, should we be worried about Michael?”

“Hmm. Well, I cannot give much of an explanation for the Distortion’s actions, no one can. But if it has not made a move to kill her yet, I doubt it will. It holds much hatred for the previous Archivist, but one would have to be blind to not to see how different Sasha is from Gertrude.”

At this point, Jon reaches out towards Martin, slowly, unsure. He quickly clips the recorder on his shirt and reaches to meet him halfway, clasping their hand in both of his, hoping silently that it’s not too much, that he doesn’t seem too eager. 

Jon says, “I really am sorry you all got caught up in this. The institute was supposed to be gone by now, but things got a little more complicated than we had planned for.” They laugh humorlessly at that, holding up one of his chains in demonstration with his free hand. Their disappointment in that last comment is palpable.

Martin doesn’t know what to say, how to reassure them or ease the guilt they clearly feel. He brings their tangled hands up to rest against his chest. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll be alright. And, and you will be too.”

“Okay,” they say with a hint of what must be fondness. “Good luck, Martin. Please stay safe. And do your best to stay connected with the others. Please.”

“I will. I promise.”

* * *

When he wakes up back in the archives, the first thing he does is quickly examine his tape recorder. Sure enough, it is secured safely where he had clipped it in the dream. He notices that it has definitely spun since he began his nap, so he crosses his fingers as he rewinds it slightly, that it actually did it’s job as a recorder and caught their conversation. As Jon’s steady voice fills the silence of the archives, Martin’s veins flood with relief. That is, until he remembers the contents of what had been said.

He rushes out of his chair, to the nearest wall and presses his ear up against it. Just as expected, if he listens closely, he can hear the tell tale squirming of the worms. He moves on to search the floors for a trapdoor, walking through each of the rooms in the archives. It takes a surprisingly short amount of time to locate. Now that he knows it's there, he’s actually surprised no one had noticed it before. He supposes ignorance really is bliss.

He checks the time. There is still about an hour before the others are expected back at the institute, plenty of time for him to take care of things. Hopefully. He briefly entertains the possibility of waiting for them, of having Tim come down and help him. But, he doesn’t want Tim to get hurt, and Jon had said to do it as quickly as possible. Jon seemed to have faith that he could do it alone, so he will lean into that faith too.

Instead he gathers supplies. He fetches as many fire extinguishers from their hiding spots as he can carry, throwing a few into a backpack and setting more by the trapdoor, as well as a jacket to cover as much skin as possible. Lastly, he grabs two flashlights, his corkscrew, and his recorder. He debates about the last one, he doesn’t want to risk losing his only physical evidence of Jon’s existence. But, his task is daunting, and he needs as much comfort as he can get. He vows to himself to be extra careful, extra conscientious of its whereabouts during this expedition. 

He kneels besides the trapdoor, ready to throw it open, but stops at the last second. Opening his phone, he shoots off a couple quick texts to the group chat so Tim and Sasha will know where he is and to not come into the archives, should any worms escape the walls. 

Satisfied, he pockets the phone and opens the door. He takes one last a deep breath of air not tainted with the worm smell, and descends into the darkness.

* * *

**Martin** : prentiss is in the archives 

**Martin** : i am taking care of it

**Martin** : DO NOT COME DOWN!!!!!

**Tim** : wtf 

**Tim** : that is not funny martin

**Tim** : you better be joking

**Tim** : hello???

**Sasha** : we’re coming back now

**Sasha** : could you answer please 

  
**Sasha** : martin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i looked everywhere and could not find an actual location for the trapdoor to the tunnels, what's up with that :/  
> anyways, he speaks! i had been looking forward to writing this one :)  
> also here's my [tumblr](https://hologlow.tumblr.com) if anyone wants to come hang out there


	5. shooters killin' left and right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! just a quick warning this one is pretty worm heavy and there is also a minor panic attack in the first section

The worms are faster in the tunnels, not that Martin had really seen them move too much before. Looking at their small and rather thick shapes, the speed in which they move seems disproportional and frankly more than a bit disturbing. The sound, squirming and wet, that he had grown to associate with them had also dampened for some reason. He had thought that a small mercy until he found himself getting jump scared by groups of the wriggling creatures coming from the many different tunnels.

Jon was right about them being a maze, especially since he only had his torch he’d strapped to his backpack to bring any real light to the dim hallways. There seemed to be endless corridors, twisting and turning and stopping and starting at random. Some even looked to go lower, deeper into whatever this underground structure was supposed to be. Martin was glad the many patches of the squirming creatures he had been using as a guide hadn’t led into any descending passageways.

The trail hadn’t really been too hard to pick up, it seemed like there weren't many ways to get into the institute walls and all the worms had to be coming from the same place, probably Prentiss herself. Of course there were some stragglers, some that must have lost the way; the ones that came out of unsuspecting tunnels and the closest to infecting Martin. He, luckily, had been able to spray all of them so far or step on the ones that came uncomfortably close.

While everything seemed to be going to plan so far, Martin couldn’t help but think of what could have been, had Jon not given him the warning. Would all of these many, many worms have made it into the walls? Even more? Waiting to come out and infest whichever of them happened to be the easiest target. He shudders at the thought. All those creatures, spilling out from the building, filling the cramped office space. From what Jon had said, they would most likely come when all three of them were there, as Sasha was rarely in the archives by herself. But even if they were all there, together, he thinks it would be impossible that they would all make it out alive, much less without getting ‘marked’ by Prentiss. 

He is once again struck with a surge of gratefulness for his friend. Jon has been nothing but helpful to Martin, first changing his long, torturous nightmares into something he looks forward to, something he actively wishes for. And now, potentially saving all three of their lives. Martin wishes he could do the same for them. He at least wants to let his gratitude be heard, but they apparently cannot see in the tunnels, so he settles for gently brushing his fingers over the recorder whenever he has a free hand.

Around the time he discards his second extinguisher, the worms are beginning to become so prevalent he thinks he must be getting close to Jane’s location. Pulling the pin out of his next weapon, he hears a faint noise echoing around the damp passages. He takes a few strides back, retracing his steps into the safety of the already dead worms and takes a quiet moment to parse out the sound.

It’s alarms, he realizes. His stomach drops in anxiety. He has been walking for quite some time now, enough time that Sasha and Tim could potentially be back at the archives. There was no way the sirens could be coming from the institute, they had to be from a different building he has surely made his way under by now. He had been careful to close the trapdoor behind him, so the worms couldn't have gotten out or escaped the walls. Right? Tim and Sasha were fine. They had to be.

He picks up the pace anyway, speed walking through the now distressing amount of worms at his feet. For quite some time, he just sprays and walks over and over, almost losing himself in the repetitive nature of his task. The tunnels have all looked the same even throughout his many changes in direction, so they lend to no engagement either. Again, he wishes Tim could have come with him, if only to have something besides the worms as company.

The monotony is quickly disrupted as the tunnel he is in is coming to a stop, and he instantly wishes it had stayed boring. At the end of the dim hallway, Martin can see a mass, large and moving, leading into the next tunnel at a sharp ninety degree angle. He squints, and to his horror, makes out the huge mass to be worms. Worms upon worms, piled on each other. At least ankle deep and writhing. 

He once again takes several steps back in panic, enough to move into the previous tunnel. He puts a hand to his chest and tries to calm his breathing, to slow the oncoming panic. 

The adrenaline and quickness of the entire situation had tricked him into thinking killing Prentiss was going to be manageable. Something he could do quickly, and without too much hassle or injury.

But Christ! What had he been thinking? He hadn’t even managed to make a single move in the offense when he was held at his apartment and he had had two whole weeks! He’d been so afraid of Jane and the worms that he had not even been back to his apartment since the incident. And now he is apparently going to waltz in and put an end to her? That easy? Martin has never even been in a fight before. He still sleeps with a corkscrew. What’s he to a creature powered by a force of pure fear? 

His mind races and his heart pounds. A panic attack bubbles under his skin, seconds from becoming full blown. What was he supposed to do to ground himself? Right, five senses. Five things he can see. His eyes dart around him, what can he see? Dead worms. Tunnel. More Worms. Oh god, that is not going to work. What else can he do? Counting! He should be able to do that.

One… two… three… four… breathe in. One… two… three… four… breathe out. He forces himself to focus on counting, only counting. No thoughts of Prentiss or evil plots or even the worm corpses littered around where he has sunken to the floor. One… two… three… four… breathe in. One… two… three… four… breathe out.

His hands manage to find the tape and he grasps it like a lifeline. Minutes pass filled with only the sound of his own deep breathing.

Once his thoughts become linear again, no longer just a jumble of panic, he tries to reassess the situation, look at it objectively and not out of fear. It is menacing, dire even, no doubt about that. But, the reality is, that this is the mess he has gotten himself into. Nothing he can change now, he has to face Prentiss herself or face the consequences of letting her have free reign of the tunnels and archive walls. 

Prentiss is planning something here and has an overwhelming number advantage. However, it seems he still has surprise on his side, as well as the one thing that can kill her. He can do it. He has no other choice.

He thinks of what reasons had pushed him into this very moment, why he is here. To keep his friends safe. To protect Tim from the horrors Martin had already faced months ago in his apartment. To do his part in keeping Sasha from falling right into Elias’ plans. Hell, maybe even to avenge himself, take back the control in his life that had been ripped away from him the second he was no longer safe in his own home. He thinks of all of this, holds onto it, and stands.

He places the tape back in it’s spot and tucks his pants into his boots in one last effort to protect himself from what's to come. He checks over his two remaining extinguishers, and, when he has nothing else to procrastinate with, goes to meet his fate.

* * *

From the moment he enters the room, he can tell there are far too many worms for him to be able to take them out with what little CO2 he has left. He has cleared a path into the entrance, and as he stops in place to take in the scene before him, he realizes that the worms are not actually going for him, only moving out of the room or into a ring around the figure in the center of the room.

The figure has her back to him, but her signature red dress and the way the worms weave themselves in and out of her body give away her identity. Jane’s hands hang low, by her side, but palms open and upwards facing as she looks at the form in front of her, bugs dripping from her fingers.

It’s a doorway, of sorts, if a doorway were half formed and made up only of worms. The whole frame sways, wriggles as if it were alive. Martin supposes it kind of is. 

Jane does not move to face him, but does ask in more of a gurgle than a true human voice, “Listen. Do you hear them sing?”

The sound sends shivers down Martin’s spine. He fights the urge to start spraying right then and there, just so he never has to hear her speak again. But, seeing as she has not resorted to violence yet, maybe he should try one last ditch effort at diplomacy.

He musters all the courage he has, wills his voice not to shake, “I don’t hear any singing.”

“You will,” she says with something akin to joy, “Soon, you all will.”

That sounds too close to a promise. “You can’t, you can’t go through with this, whatever this is, Jane. You will hurt- no you will kill innocent people! You don’t want that, right? You don’t have to do this.”

She’s quite a moment. Long enough that Martin thinks he may have gotten through to her, maybe touched on a sore spot. Eventually, she does speak again, quieter than before but no less monstrous. “This is what I was made for.”

“That’s not- no you weren’t! You could-”

She interrupts, louder now, “This  _ is _ what I was made for! The hive chose me, called to me. Created this-” she flings her arms in gesture to the doorway, worms flying from body to become indistinguishable in its mass, “-through me! There’s no stopping, not now, not this close. I will make it’s song heard!”

Martin tightens his grip on his extinguisher. “I, I can’t let you do that.”

She finally turns to face him, looking him up and down. Maggots fall from her eyes like tears, only to crawl back into any number of the many gaping holes crowding for room further down on her face. Worms spew from her mouth flailing over each other like fighting tongues, voice melancholy as she states with a surprising finality, “So be it.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, everything changes. The worms, so docile only moments ago, desert their ring formation and squirm towards him from all directions. The frenzy of movement sends Martin into a frenzy of his own. Desperate, he sprays the extinguisher. He has no direction, circling the nozzle around himself in futile attempt to stop the worms from reaching his body. 

This method is quickly proving to be unsuccessful, the wave of worms from all angles coming closer and closer to him by the second, no matter how many of their kind shrivel and die before them. The first worm reaches his boot as his extinguisher stops working.

As he reaches over his head for his last defense sticking out of his backpack, he catches sight of Prentiss. In his panic to keep himself safe, he hadn’t noticed what she had been doing. Which was absolutely nothing. She was standing, still and unmoving, in the center of the room, out of range of his spray, just watching the scene unfold before her.

In that moment, Martin comes to a realization. He can’t kill the worms. He knew this before coming in and Jane certainly knows it now. She is going to wait for him to waste the last of his CO2 on replaceable worms until he is eventually overrun by her endless supply. He will die, alone and afraid, and she will continue on with him as little more than an annoying setback.

If he doesn’t want to end like that, he only has one choice: ignore the worms, climbing and squirming and making a home in his body, to make a rush at Jane. It is a certainty that he will be hurt, but at least this way he will take her out too. His only hope for survival at this point is that the worms will die when she does, and that he will make it until then.

He pulls the pin, no worms on his skin but many halfway up his legs now, and runs toward Prentiss. The first stride has him almost slipping, each step punctuated by the squelch of slime and guts under his shoes. Jane looks startled that he would even think to make a move like this and steps backwards, only to realize she has nowhere to go. Without her worms, she is without defense.

At an arm's length away, he begins to spray. A worm has made it to his uncovered hands and begins to burrow itself into his skin. He wants to scream, to make a noise in pain, but is afraid at the prospect of letting any of them into his mouth. He keeps quiet.

Jane does not. The second the spray touches what’s left of her skin, she begins to let out a screech as inhumane as it is loud. It’s horrific, unlike anything he has ever heard before. He thinks that his ears must be bleeding, but he can’t reach up to check. Can’t cover his ears. Can’t do anything but spray and spray and spray. Ignore the searing pain in his hands and hope against everything that she will die before his extinguisher does.

He’s not sure how long it takes for her to stop making noise. It certainly feels like an infinity. He closed his eyes at some point, the gas too much to handle, and he is afraid to open them now, afraid of what he will find. It doesn’t feel like the worms are still moving around and on him anymore, but he sprays until there’s nothing left in the extinguisher.

When he manages to pry his eyes open, the first thing he sees Prentiss. Dead. A shriveled corpse not unlike the worms around her. He looks around the room and finds the rest of her hive also dead. The second he is sure he’s out of danger, his legs give away. He all but collapses on the ground, whole body shaking from the exertion. His mind is foggy, maybe from the gas or maybe from the stress. Whatever the reason, he manages a smile at his victory, his completed mission, as the world goes dark around him.

* * *

Coming to in a pile of dead worms with only a corpse as company is not something Martin can say he would recommend. He feels like he just woke up with the worst hangover of his life, not sure of when he had passed out or how long it had been since then. A headache pounds, sharp behind his eyes. Worse than that though, are his hands. His palms where he had been grasping the extinguisher were spared, and the worms did not make it far up his sleeves, thankfully. Both of the backs of his hands, however, look very rough. Dried blood decorates them, but there seems to be no current bleeding. Most of the wounds do have the remains of a dead worm still sticking out of them, though.

He grimaces as he painstakingly begins to remove any and all worms from his body. Luckily, he is able to just grasp and pull most of them out. He would not like to even imagine the state his hands would be in, had the corkscrew been necessary. 

No sooner has he finished that and slowly picked himself off the ground than a yellow door, bright even in the low light of the tunnels, appears right next to the room's only exit. He’s not sure how or when it appeared, it’s like it wasn’t there one second and then the next it had always been there. His headache worsens trying to think about it. Or look at it for that matter. For a moment, Martin is sure he must be hallucinating, an after effect of all the gas he inhaled or something of the sort. He even shakes his head in attempt to clear the vision.

When it does not vanish as he so hoped it would, Martin briefly looks around for something to arm himself with. Then, he remembers the state of himself and decides whatever happens will happen. He already took on and beat one supernatural thing, he can’t be expected to be prepared for two in a row.

The door knob jiggles and Martin tenses at the motion. The person that steps out is tall, unnaturally so, with blond hair curling in on itself and hands that are… long. Ah. This must be Michael. 

It closes the door behind itself and grins, all canines. “Assistant!”

Martin guesses that must be him. “Michael?”

It laughs, overlapping and in harmony with itself. It steps further into the room and bends down to survey what’s left of Jane. “I will admit, I did not think this was how your little expedition was going to go! What a turn of events!”

Martin’s unsure of what that means. Michael had obviously known about both him and Jane, so did he favor one of them? It had given Sasha the information about the CO2, he supposes, but it also sounded like it was fully expecting Martin to have died. He asks, “Is this what you wanted to happen?”

Michael looks up at him, the eye contact straining his eyes unnaturally, “I do love a twist!”

That’s not really an answer at all. Martin is too tired for crypticness, he is absolutely done with not knowing what’s going on. “So what are you here for then? Get a rise out of seeing dead bodies?”

Michael grins again. “Why, Assistant, is that any way to speak to someone who has brought you a gift?”

Martin eyes it warily, he most likely does not want whatever it has to offer. Michael does not wait for him to answer though, as it makes its way back over to the yellow door. With flourish, it pulls the door open and completes the motion with a bow.

Behind the door, both Tim and Sasha trip through, stumbling and grasping onto each other to keep from falling. They both have a hand on their heads, as if dizzy, and don’t seem to notice where they are yet.

Martin turns his attention back to Michael. “What the fuck.” 

It laughs again, echoing off the walls of the room and further into the tunnels. With two lengthy fingers, it gives a salute and steps back into the open doorway. When the door shuts, the entire thing disappears with it.  _ What the fuck,  _ Martin thinks. He shakes his head in disbelief and walks over to the two of them. When he gets closer, they finally seem to become aware that he is there. 

“Martin!” Tim says, now straightened up and looking a bit less sickly. “Thank god you’re okay, we looked everywhere for you!” He moves to pull him into a hug, but Martin quickly takes a step back to stop him.

“Wait, wait! I’ve got worm stuff on me, I don’t think you want to touch me right now.”

That makes Tim and Sasha actually take him in, covered in sweat and grime and some remnants of blood. They then turn to the rest of the room and are not met with a prettier sight there.

“Oh good lord,” Tim mutters.

Martin shuffles in place, feeling awkward. What’s one supposed to say in this situation? Should he be defensive of his actions or proud of what he accomplished? He does neither. “I didn’t think you’d have to look for me, I told you where I was.”

Sasha scoffs at this. “No, Martin, no you didn’t. You about gave us a heart attack by saying that you were ‘taking care’ of Prentiss! Alone, in the archives! When we got back, you weren’t there! There wasn’t even any sign of Prentiss either!”

“And that was yesterday!” Tim adds.

Oh. Well, that blackout was certainly longer than he had guessed.

Sasha isn’t done there though. “And you left us no clues, no note or anything! We didn’t know what to think, maybe Prentiss had kidnapped you or something.”

At this point they both look at him expectantly, wanting an explanation. “No, ah, no kidnapping here. I  _ was _ in the archives. I just, um, had to go into the tunnels to stop her.”

Tim’s eyebrows climb up his face as Sasha says, “Excuse me, tunnels?” 

“Yes? That’s where we are? Did Michael not tell you- no, wait actually why were you guys with Michael? I heard alarms at one point, did it do something?”

“No the alarms were us, actually,” Sasha says, “We pulled the fire alarm before we went into the archives, we didn’t realize the CO2 had to be activated manually if there was no actual fire.”

Tim makes an annoyed noise. “Yeah, that was a disaster. Everyone in the entire building was evacuating while we were in the lobby trying to grab extinguishers. It was chaos!”

“Elias caught us before we went down, too, and we had to explain what was going on. He said he would not set off CO2 until he actually saw a reason to. He came down with us and imagine our surprise when the archives were completely empty!”

“He said you must have had an episode or something! Bastard.” Tim says.

Sasha nods, “So he was no help. Told us to just go home and you would come back if you wanted to. We didn’t know what else to do, we couldn’t stay at the institute, so we went home.”

“Well, first, we searched up and down the nearby streets for you, or worms. And then we went to your apartment. And then home.”

“Right, and we looked all over the institute this morning, and that’s when Michael showed up.”

Tim and Sasha then share a look between each other. Martin waits for either of them to continue, but they seem to be in a silent battle for who has to do it. “And… ?” he prompts. 

They look at each other for another tense moment before Tim relents, “... and it offered us a way to get to you.”

“No,” Martin says, incredulous. “No. You cannot tell me you went with it on purpose.”

Sasha says, “What were we supposed to do, Martin! We had to find you!” at the same time Tim says, “We were desperate!” Both at least have the decency to look a little guilty. 

Martin can not even believe what he’s hearing. He just went through probably the most traumatic event of his life in order to keep the both of them out of harm's way, just for them to deliberately dive head first back into it. It’s comical in a way that makes him unsure of if he wants to laugh or yell. He has to hope since she already had an encounter with Michael, this new one didn’t hurt Sasha in the way Jon was talking about. He might just lose it if it did.

With a deep breath he collects himself. “What on earth would possess you guys to willingly put yourselves at risk like that? Anything could have happened, we don’t know what it wants!”

“Oh you’re one to talk! Mr. fight an entire army of worms alone in spooky tunnels!” comes from Tim.

Sasha says, emphatically, “Yeah!” and then, “How did you even know about these tunnels?”

Martin shrugs, “Jon told me.”

“Huh. You were able to get all that through your sign language?” from Tim. Martin tries not to be offended at Tim's apparent lack of faith in his abilities.

“And in the middle of the day? Or was that something you were just sitting on,” Sasha adds.

“No and yes. I mean- ugh,” Martin tries to think of how to explain it all. It’s probably going to take a while with how many questions Sasha is sure to ask. He gestures to the room’s exit. “Come on, I’ll tell you what happened as we walk back, it’s kind of a ways back to the institute.” He can’t help but throw in, “Unless you want to call back your ride, of course.”

They both make a face of disgust and Tim says, “Trust me, I don’t think either of us ever want to go in there again. In fact, if I ever see another yellow door, it’ll be too soon.”

Sasha says, “Agreed,” as they all make their way back into the main tunnels.

* * *

They walk for a while, taking turns filling each other in on the rest of each of their stories. As suspected, Sasha really digs in on her questioning. Martin doesn’t mind, she probably has the best chance out of any of them to figure out what is actually going on. Tim seems interested in both the tunnels themselves, carefully observing as they walk through, as well as Smirke’s apparent involvement. Martin promises to let them listen to the tape themselves when the circumstances are less dire, willing himself not to be too embarrassed about how he had acted and what he had said to Jon. 

Tim and Sasha are trying to explain exactly what Michael’s corridors had felt like when Martin pulls to a stop. “Hey guys, when was the last time you saw a worm?”

They both look at the ground. Tim says, “Oh is there not-? I just saw some a minute ago. Maybe we took a wrong turn?”

Sasha sighs, “Well, let’s turn back, retrace our steps I guess.”

They go back into the previous tunnel. No worms. Another tunnel. None there either. At this point, they are all silent in worry. They have no choice but the press on, try and remember which turns they took while they were paying more attention to their conversations than their path.

They walk, tense, until finally Sasha points, “Oh there!” A sigh of relief comes from all of them as they walk into a new tunnel towards the singular worm corpse, hopefully back on track. 

The hallway curves and brings them not onto their path back, but rather to a dead stop in a small room, not unlike the one Jane occupied. It’s dark, their torch lights roam over several boxes that look to be full of tapes before they come to rest on what’s sitting against the back wall. 

The body of one Gertrude Robinson, shot dead with three clean bullet wounds in her chest, stares up at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tim, martin, and sasha accusing each other of bad decisions but it's just the spiderman pointing meme.  
> thank you as always for reading, comments, and kudos it means the world to me <3  
> can't say i'll be able to stick to any schedule now, my classes started last week and i'm already so busy, but i will be back as soon as i can!


End file.
